The right thing to do
by Green Sphynx
Summary: Post!DA2 Anders readily leaves Kirkwall when Hawke sends him away. He expects to be hunted; a punishment fit for his crime. But Fenris catches up with him a lot faster than he expected.


_The right thing to do_

How this had all managed to go sour on top of the mess it already was, was a mystery even to Anders.

He knew his actions would mark his own death sentence. He had never expected to walk away alive from that scene, which partially made it so easy to just _let go_. Snap at the Knight-Commander; snap at the First Enchanter – oh he had wanted to do both for so, so long now. Knowing he had nothing more to lose with what was about to happen gave him the freedom to _finally_ do it.

And then he lived.

He blew up the Chantry full of innocent people . Full of devout sisters, poor people seeking refuge from the cold and most importantly the Grand Cleric, whose biggest crime was her sloth. She could've avoided all of this by just stepping out and speaking up. She could've saved herself so easily; could've saved all the innocent mages from this fate. But she rather sit there in her Chantry and watch as the Templars grew more oppressive and the mages fall deeper into despair. It was _her_ fault.

Yet it was Anders who killed her, Anders who started this war. And he was right to do so, even though he knew most people would disagree. And in a way, that was fair. People couldn't understand. People would never understand. So after years of trying to _make_ them understand, he could not feel guilty about giving up on such a thing. He took a different path, a more violent one. It caused a lot of suffering – and for _that_ he _did_ feel guilty, and not just a little bit either – but this suffering was fast and decisive. The blow of a Templar's sword and a weak mage was gone. A terrifying thought, but that same mage would've suffered for years under the abuses of that same Templar to finally fall so deeply into despair he'd embrace a demon. This way was terrible, but it was by far the better option.

If the choice was between suffering and suffering _more_ , there was never a choice that would make people happy. And Anders wasn't happy for making the choice; even if it was the right thing to do.

He had sat down and awaited his unavoidable sentence. He was expecting death, and Sebastian was making a point out of ensuring Anders would be _right_ in his expectations. His anger was justified, Anders knew. People were right to be angry, because inaction was always a crime much easier to tolerate than action. Both were crimes when there was no right option, and Anders was willing to commit this one.

But then Hawke sent him off.

Why? Why did she think this was a wise thing to do? Not that he had a strong desire to die per se, but killing him now was just. It was the right thing to do.

And only when he stood on the slope of the Sundermount, turning to watch Kirkwall burn, he realised how wrong he was.

Killing him would have been too easy. After the crime he committed against so many innocents, death would have been too quick. Like he had chosen the mercy of a quick death for many mages with his action, he had hoped for that same merciful punishment. But Hawke had given him the long and painful way.

Sebastian had sworn to hunt him down. Anders knew better than to expect the Templars not to be after him again now. And he would not be surprised for the Grey Wardens to pick up the hunt as well, to eliminate him from their ranks. The Grey Warden typically didn't involve themselves in politics, so to have one of their brothers start a war like this... killing him would be the best way to fall back into their preferred neutrality.

He would be hunted every step he made. He had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. He was a criminal, a terrorist, a zealot. He would not find peace no matter where he went.

And somehow, this was a fitting punishment. This was just.

He smiled wearily, turning away from the burning city as the first drops of rain started to fall.

...

By the time the city was out of sight, the drizzle had become a downpour. Night had fallen, but Anders made no move to stop. He was frozen to the bone and his fingers were stiff whenever he tried to grab onto a rock to stabilise his hike over the mountain, but even the danger of falling was no reason to stop him now.

He wouldn't fall to his death on the path he was following. He'd just end up scraped and bruised, perhaps a broken bone if he was unlucky. Nothing he couldn't handle, nothing he didn't deserve.

It was more important to get further away. He was strangely looking forward to this life of being hunted, the constant pain he was in relieved by the knowledge he was being punished. It was a lonely punishment, just like _that time_ , but now it was out in the open, in the light of his small spell wisp and the cold wetness of the rain. It was lonely and terrifying. And just like _that time_ he would cling to the last remnants of his sanity right until the end. He would not falter. He would live to see this to the end, he would not embrace death. Death was the easy way out.

And Anders was known for being more stubborn than a mule.

But despite his stubbornness, he could not help pausing as he noticed a shallow cave to the side of the animal trail he was following. It was barely more than an outcrop of rock, a space sheltered from the rain not deep enough to keep his feet dry if he were to lay stretched out. _But it would if he curled up._

Did he have a right to sleep now? No rest for the wicked, was what they said. He was still so close to Kirkwall. If he stopped to sleep now, he would easily be found.

Then again, the likeliness of a Templar in full armour clamouring over this trail was... very very low. And even if one dared, Anders would be woken by the sheer noise of them long before they would reach him. He knew he hadn't deserved rest, especially not in the comfort of a dry place, but he also knew he wouldn't last long if he was going to keep scrambling forward all night with nothing but his spell wisp to light his treacherous wet path. If he didn't slip and end up breaking something, he would end up with a pneumonia before morning. Neither would exactly improve his speed in getting away from Kirkwall.

And it wasn't like this outcrop was _that_ comfortable. Dry, yes. But he's still be sleeping on hard uneven stone with no space for a fire – and even if there were space for a fire, that would be a dead giveaway to anyone pursuing him.

Anders found himself slowly stepping closer to the outcrop, light fluttering in his hand and clothes releasing water in a small stream at the lowest point of his coat by now. He should be taking it off and drying it before lying down, or he would still end up with said pneumonia.

He didn't get further than taking off his coat, the heavy soaked fabric hitting the ground with a wet sound as he was shoved forward. He hit his head hard against the outcrop of rock and for a moment he saw bright stars before everything went dark.

 _No wait. He wasn't unconscious. He just lost his light wisp._

He turned with a gasp, only to meet a fist face first. With a cry of agony he crumbled to the ground, tasting blood and rain and seeing the bright flashes before his eyes once more.

" _How dare you?!_ "

Fenris sounded _so angry_. No surprise there. The biggest surprise was that he had come after Anders so quickly. He had stayed with Hawke to help her protect the innocent mages from the mad Knight-Commander – albeit reluctantly. He had not expected the angry elf to come after him to kill him for another few days.

He was dragged up again by two fists grabbing his threadbare shirt, and he could hear the ripping of thin fabric and seams. Still, it held strong enough for Fenris to lift him, and he met furious eyes in the dark, feeling the hot breath of his own panting coming back to him mingled with the elf's.

"I will not forgive you for what you have done, abomination!"

Anders almost laughed. The thought of being forgiven for this was ridiculous, and he couldn't quite imagine why Fenris felt the need to point out the obvious at a time like this. But he was too weary to laugh, and he simply smiled ruefully.

"Really now?" He licked his lips, still wet with rain and fresh blood from where his bottom lip had been smashed against his teeth. "And since when do you care so much about the Chantry? Did the Choir boy convert you after all?"

Not unexpectedly, his rudeness was rewarded with another punch, and this time his clothes did not hold out against the force. The fabric ripped in Fenris' grip and Anders crumbled to the ground once more, nurturing a bruised jaw.

"I don't care for the Chantry. I _hate_ how you killed innocents, I _hate_ how you say you can control yourself and then do something like _this_. But what I will never forgive you for-" Fenris stopped talking abruptly, and Anders had only a fraction of a second to wonder why before he felt the foot kicking sharply into his stomach.

He wheezed, hacking and gagging helplessly at the pain. Fenris would probably have been able to snap him in two with just a kick – he'd seen him kill stronger men this way. So the fact that Anders was still able to weakly choke up bile on the washed clean mountainside, even after being hit twice and kicked once, meant that the warrior was going easy on him. Somehow, that was not a reassuring thought.

He was unable to ask Fenris to finish his sentence, his heaving for breath too intense up to the point heavy gauntleted fingers coiled into his hair, dragging him upright again. He figured he wouldn't be seeing much in the dark anyway, so he generously allowed himself to keep his eyes closed.

" _Why_ did you do it?"

With a last forced cough, Anders reached up to hold on to the gauntlet, squirming just slightly against the pain it caused him. Despite that, he managed a weak scoff, voice rough from before.

"You were there when I explained."

"Why didn't you look for another way first?"

The question was accompanied with a sharp knee hitting his chest, luckily a little softer than the blows from before. No doubt because Fenris wanted him to answer.

"There was no other way," he wheezed, squirming more in Fenris' grip now.

"There is _always_ another way. There were many ways that wouldn't have... wouldn't have caused _this_."

" _This_ is what I _meant_ to cause." Anders opened his eyes to glare, only to see darkness. The rain kept pounding down onto them, and the only thing he accomplished was getting the stinging hits of raindrops into his eyes as well.

" _No_."

"If you're going to kill me, get on with it. This is pointless."

A sharp pull on his hair had the tie ripped out completely, and cried out at the pain of the strands being roughly torn from his scalp. He was bent back on his knees, Fenris leaning over him to growl angrily at him. _The elf's breath again, right there on his face. If one could smell of anger, Fenris would. The always lingering scent of wine was long washed away by the rain._

"You took away everything I had with this. And not just me!"

 _Oh_.

That made sense in the most unpleasant of ways. Anders hadn't been paying much attention to what Hawke had been saying before she sent him away, but he did recall her deciding to protect the innocent mages. And Meredith threatening she would suffer the same fate as the Circle then. Would Hawke be hunted by the Templars as well now? Or would the order finally acknowledge the madness of Meredith, and declare she had gone too far with it?

It was hard to say, impossible to know at this point. Which meant it was not safe for Hawke nor any of her friends who got involved to stay. Including Fenris, who had nothing else but a mansion slowly falling apart around him, and Hawke.

He _did_ take away everything Fenris had.

 _Just another thing he had to atone for. This was not what he had meant to happen when he committed that act of violence. This was not just._

"I'm sorry."

Fenris seemed to falter at the apology – he could hear his breath hitch slightly in surprise, and the grip on Anders' hair weakened slightly.

So Anders took his chance and released Fenris' wrist, reaching up to find his face instead. Fenris flinched slightly at the palms to his cheeks, but _not_ as their lips met. He simply allowed Anders to kiss him apologetically, because it was the only thing Anders had to offer right now. He was soaked and cold and lonely, his life was forfeit and he owned nothing but ripped and soaked clothes. He could only offer one thing, and that was a momentarily lack of loneliness.

Just for a small moment, until Fenris would come to his senses and realise this was not the kiss he wanted to have. This was Anders, the one who took everything from him. No doubt that would be the moment he pulled away-

Anders let out a surprised grunt when he was knocked to the side by sharp hit to the side of his head. His shoulder connected with the hard rock below them first; muddy water splattering up against his face as his skull followed with a dull thud that seemed to bore through his head like a nail.

This time he was not granted any respite, no time to wonder what happened. A foot in his stomach followed immediately, forcing his body to slide an inch back over rough stone. Another kick followed, and Anders wasn't even able to let out a cry anymore.

"You have _no_ right!"

Anders gasped for air, finding it in him to cry out in pain at the third kick, and whimpering at the fourth.

"You have _no_ right to do that _now_ after _all this time_!"

 _It didn't make sense_. But it wasn't like Anders could protest or question. Not with the insistent kicks that were only just weak enough to avoid breaking ribs. Carefully calculated force, the elf knew _exactly_ what he was doing even in a fit of rage. If Anders wasn't in so much pain, he would take a moment to appreciate and admire his restraint. He had done that many times as he watched Fenris fight. But Fenris didn't usually physically assault _him_ , Maker knows why. He had looked like he wanted to often enough.

"All this time..."

Anders panted and whimpered, curling up in a tight ball as soon as the assault stopped. Fenris was towering over him, he could feel it. He could sense those dangerous feet still right next to him, in the dark and the rain and the cold. Fenris must be freezing, barefoot in this weather. Ander certainly was, bruised and bleeding on the bare rock, only tattered remains of a scrap of a shirt remaining to protect his torso of the relentless weather.

But he was ready for the next blow when he felt the sharp gauntlets again, hands so strong for how small they were dragging him upright by the armpits. He more heard than felt the splatter of knees hitting the ground, his pants soaked too far to notice the difference.

But instead of another punch Anders was surprised by feeling Fenris' lips once more.

 _This time initiated by the elf_ ; and so much more angry and passionate than his apologetic kiss of before.

Anders whimpered painfully, arms coming up and wrapping around Fenris' neck, despite his flinches every time he hit that spiky armour wrong with freezing arms. He was drawn in closer, sharp gauntlets on the bare skin of his lower back, pulling him close as their lips mashed together in a mess of blood and tears and rain. He could taste the wine now, finally, but it was an afterthought on Fenris' tongue; like it was ingrained there after many nights of drinking, but he hadn't had any wine since the night before.

He just tasted of Anders' bloody lip and the sweet slick saliva of another person as their tongues slid together, hungry for more and eager to please.

Fenris grunted into the kiss, and Anders had already responded with a moan before he could think better of it. The next moment he found himself flat on his back again, his head surprisingly shielded from hitting the rock by one of those unwelcoming gauntlets. The heat of Fenris' palm on the inside while sharp tips caught and pulled his hair was almost as dizzying as the blow against stone would've been, and Anders whimpered in near desperation.

It was hot, even if the rain pelted down on them unforgiving. White hair now clung sleek and wet to Anders' forehead, and he was all the happier for it.

It had been so long. He had wanted this for so long and he had never dared to even consider it. All this time _aching_ -

He gasped in the second Fenris pulled away, both of them sucking in air like drowning men. And they were, for they might as well be sinking down in the water beyond the Gallows, cold and soaked and lost. But they were kissing again and Anders suddenly didn't mind the idea of dying tonight after all.

...

Everything had become hazy at some point, and Anders only figured out why when he blinked his eyes open, wrapped naked in the warm embrace of an equally naked man who just beat him up on a pitch black mountain trail.

Lips were still working against his own, even if he couldn't recall how they got here and how long they had been kissing.

It seemed... likely he had eventually passed out, or at least mostly, from the cold chilling him to the bone. Luckily Fenris seemed knowledgeable enough when it came to surviving out in the wild, warming Anders skin to skin in the shallow cave. Their wet clothes were hung before the entrance with long roughly chopped off branches, blocking out the rain and cold air. Even if it was still cold here, the air felt a tad warmer from their combined body heat.

As soon as Anders moved to respond to the kiss again, Fenris pulled away. Even if his eyes were used to the dark enough to make out the clothes against the slightly brighter air outside, Fenris' face was still just a darkness before him – but he could _feel_ the piercing glare.

Shivering, he untangled an arm from the warm body, holding it out to summon a wisp of light in his hand. He immediately dimmed the light, finding them both squinting at the unexpected brightness of it, and allowed the wisp to give off a mild warmth instead.

He expected a remark, yet Fenris silently tolerated the use of magic.

"I thought you were busy killing me," Anders remarked dryly, voice hoarse as if he hadn't spoke for days.

"I wouldn't have killed you," came the gruff reply, and as Anders looked up he saw the unnerving bright reflection of his wisp in the elven eyes, rather than the expression he was being given.

"Then why did you come after me?"

There was a long silence, before Fenris kissed him again. It was no apology. It was no anger, no passion. A different kiss again, and Anders wondered where Fenris had learned to speak so openly without any words.

But he understood now.

Because they were both lost, and they were both lonely. They both needed someone to cling to, and they both needed someone to keep an eye on them.

Anders was a fugitive, but Fenris was no longer.

And now, Fenris was again. Because Anders took away everything he had, and this was the only thing he had to offer in return.


End file.
